A Season For Hope (A Fairhope Christmas Novella) Read online

“That was totally my fault,” he says. “I was in a hurry to get to the lab and I came barreling through the door like an asshole. You sure you’re okay? Do you feel lightheaded or anything?”

  I shake my head and go to stand, but the room spins and I sink back down. “Maybe a little.”

  “Hang on,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

  He stands and goes back inside to the main second-floor hallway.

  I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes for a second, but everything spins and my stomach lurches. I open my eyes again and take several deep breaths. My hands are trembling.

  My life is such a mess right now. I feel like I’m struggling against the tide, a strong undercurrent of sadness constantly dragging me back under.

  I can’t live like this.

  The door behind me opens again, and I swipe at the falling tears.

  He sits down beside me on the stairs. He hands me a plastic cup full of ice water. “This should help some,” he says.

  “Thanks.” I take a sip of the water and hold it in my mouth for a while, letting the cold of it counteract the rolling nausea in my stomach. I swallow and feel the cold liquid make its path down my throat. “Do you need to be somewhere?”

  He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I want to stay and make sure you don’t need to go to the med center.”

  “I’m fine, really,” I say. I’m not even close to being fine, but he’s a stranger and he doesn’t need to know that. “You said you were rushing somewhere.”

  He leans back against the stair rail. “It’s not important,” he says, his hazel eyes staring straight through me. As if he can see what I've been going through. “Were you heading to a class? I don’t think I’ve seen you in this building before.”

  “No,” I say with a laugh. “I was on my way to work.”

  “Just my luck,” he murmurs.

  I turn my head to the side. “What does that mean?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, the smile taking over his face now.

  I can’t tear my gaze away from his lips. My stomach flutters and I swallow, feeling slightly breathless.

  I want to ask him more, because I feel like there’s more to it than that. But I’m crazy late for work and I can’t afford to lose my job.

  “I should probably get going,” I say. I stand slowly and wait for the head rush, but I actually feel okay.

  He stands and grabs my bag for me. “You sure you’re feeling up to it? I can wait with you here for a while longer if you want,” he says.

  I shake my head. I have a pounding headache, but I don’t think sitting here is going to cure it. “I’m fine. I’m actually pretty late.”

  “I’ll walk with you, then,” he says. He opens the door to the second floor and I walk inside. “It’s the least I can do after slamming into you like that.”

  I study him for a second. He’s been so sweet and attentive and now he’s offering to walk me to work? Talk about a good bedside manner. I thought men like this only existed in fairy tales or made-for-TV movies. There’s got to be something wrong with him.

  And if there’s not, he’s way too good for me anyway. Besides, my heart is too broken to even think about being attracted to someone else.

  “I’m good,” I say. I hand him my empty water glass. “Thanks, though. See you around…?”

  “Judd,” he says. His fingers brush mine as he takes the glass. “Judd Kohler.”

  My stomach flutters again, catching me off guard. I turn fast and nearly smack into a water fountain jutting out of the wall. I stumble around it, blushing.

  When I get a few steps further, he calls out to me. “Wait.”

  I stop and look back at him.

  “You didn’t tell me your name,” he says.

  “Bailey,” I say, unable to control the smile that spreads across my face.

  He raises his hand in a wave. “Be careful around doors, Bailey.” he says.

  “I will.” I raise a hand in a half-wave as I disappear down the bridge toward the student center.

  It doesn’t occur to me until I get all the way to the door of The Cup that I haven’t stopped smiling.

  Chapter Three

  Work goes by surprisingly fast. There are a ton of customers today. The semester is winding down and everyone is studying for finals, so I know we’ll be busy from here until the Christmas break.

  My manager, Mr. Edwards is in good spirits, singing along to the Christmas carols playing on the local radio station. The outside windows have been sprayed with fake snow and we’re selling yummy new drinks like peppermint hot chocolate and snickerdoodle lattes.

  When I cash out at seven and head back toward my car, there’s a spring in my step I thought I’d never get back.

  It’s dark out and colder than it’s been all year. I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder and shove my hands into the pockets of my purple leather coat.

  I hit the sidewalk leading to the main student parking lot and out of habit, glance toward Preston’s parking spot. It’s late, so I don’t expect to see him. But there he is.

  The sight of him creates an ache deep inside. I wish there was some kind of tradition where every time you broke up with someone, they had to wear a collar that would beep whenever they got within a hundred yards of you. No more surprise attacks. My heart can’t take it.

  At first, I only pay attention to him. The curve of his mouth. His dark hair and eyes. His tall, muscular body.

  But the sound of laughter pulls me from my self-pity trance and I really open my eyes.

  Leaning against the side of his car is a girl with short blond pigtails. I can’t see her clearly from here, but I can see him. And the way his eyes shine when he looks at her slices through my soul.

  My chest tightens and I breathe in slowly.

  Just seeing him is hard enough, but seeing him smiling down at another girl is too much.

  I turn and run toward my car, fumbling with the keys. I finally manage to get it started, but by the time I do, my vision is blurred with tears.

  I press my head against the headrest and close my eyes. There must be some cosmic rule that says whenever you start to feel happy again after a breakup, the universe must slam you with a surprise sighting just to remind you how much you’re hurting.

  Will I ever get over this feeling? Will I ever be able to see him and not feel this tight ache in my core?

  And the shitty thing is that I knew this was coming. I knew he was pulling away from me. Ever since Leigh Anne, his ex-girlfriend, came back into town this past summer, things were tense between us. Understandably.

  Preston may have cheated on Leigh Anne with me way back in high school, but I always knew he regretted that. I spent the past three years trying to make him see that there was nothing to regret. That I was just as good as her. But even before she came back here, I felt the truth of his love for her somewhere deep inside.

  When she returned to Fairhope, it was like the last straw between Preston and me. Even when he was kissing me, I knew the fire had gone out.

  And I was helpless to get it back.

  Leigh Anne might have met and fallen in love with someone else, but I think something about seeing her again and realizing what he’d lost made Preston start searching for something beyond what I could give him.

  Yet here I am, nearly six months later, still clinging to what we had. Wishing I could make him love me.

  I start the car and head back toward my apartment, a sadness hanging heavy in my heart. I feel hopeless. Completely lost.

  I think there’s been a part of me that was still hoping he’d see the light and come back to me. Even after three weeks of not talking, I guess some irrational hope still lingered. Like maybe he would see me across the quad and realize he’d made a terrible mistake.

  But seeing him with someone else broke the last of that hope. It’s really over between us.

  I swipe at a falling tear as I zip the car into my parking spot in front of the
small apartment on the east end of campus. All I want to do is go inside, take an aspirin and crawl into bed.

  The TV is on in Monica’s room, so I sneak past and close my door behind me. But when I go to set my things down on my bed, I notice a large garment bag spread across it.

  My stomach twists.

  Fuck.

  How could I have forgotten?

  I throw my bag and coat on the floor and carefully unzip the white garment bag. I pull the red dress out and hold it up, barely able to breathe.

  It’s strapless with a tight ruched bodice adorned with white pearls under the bust. The skirt flares out just above the knee. A beautiful lace pattern is hand-stitched along a split in the fabric where it ruffles and hitches up, revealing a layer of white lace underneath.

  It’s my dream dress. Ordered nearly seven months ago from a very expensive boutique in Atlanta specifically for this year’s Christmas Memories Charity Ball. The ball is an event Preston’s mother throws every year at her house. I had planned on going with Preston and if I’m being honest, when I saw this dress, I had a distinct mental image of me wearing it with him kneeling at my feet, a ring stretched up toward me.

  I move in front of the mirror and hold the dress up against my body. I adore this dress, but of all moments for it to arrive, now is just about the worst possible one.

  My mother yelled at me when she found out how much I’d spent on it. I had to put it on layaway, making payments once a month to slowly pay it off, but at the time, I was certain it was an investment in my future.

  The perfect dress for the perfect night.

  I can’t bear to look at it anymore.

  I slip it back inside the bag and zip it up, then push it to the back of my closet. The dress has already been altered specifically for me, so they won’t take it back now. I’d rather just hide it away where I won’t have to look at it and think about what might have been.

  Chapter Four

  I go into the bathroom to wash my face and as I remove the bandage, I gasp at the swollen purple cut underneath. I look hideous.

  My face crumples in tears and I let them flow. I wrinkle my forehead and the cut stings as it stretches and breaks open. A few drops of warm, sticky blood trickle down the line of my eyebrow. I grab some tissues and press them against the wound, my chest hitching with each sob.

  My life is a complete mess. I sink down to the floor. I don’t want to live like this anymore.

  The door to my bathroom opens and Monica steps inside. When I look up, her face falls and she comes to sit beside me on the cold tile floor.

  “What in the world happened?” she asks. She puts a hand on my leg and studies my eye. “I was about to come in here and bitch you out for sneaking in without saying hi, but now I’m going to yell at you for not telling me you were hurt. What did you do?”

  I shrug and sniff, pulling the bloody tissues back. “I ran into a door,” I say.

  She raises an eyebrow and cocks her head to the side. “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” I say with a laugh that comes out more like a half-sob. “I was trying to take the shortcut through the science building and ran right into a door as this guy was pushing it open.”

  “That asshole,” she says. “Did you punch him in the nuts?”

  I roll my eyes. “It wasn’t his fault. I was the one running.”

  “I can’t believe you went to work like this. What if you have a concussion or something?”

  “I don’t have a concussion,” I say. “The guy who hit me was a med student. He made sure I was okay.”

  Monica sits back against her heels. “Oh really?”

  I roll my eyes and toss the tissue toward the trashcan. I miss and have to scoot forward to pick it up again.

  “Was he cute?” she asks.

  I wipe my face off and stand up, avoiding her eyes. “I guess,” I say, not wanting to admit to her that I thought he was gorgeous. I’m too busy being sad and pathetic to let one ounce of possible happiness in the door.

  She stands up and peers over my shoulder, studying my face in the mirror. “It doesn’t look so bad,” she says, but she’s grimacing as she says it.

  “Liar.”

  She turns around and leans against the edge of the cabinet. “Is that all that’s wrong?” she asks. “You were crying pretty hard.”

  I close my eyes, so incredibly tired of crying all the time. I barely even recognize myself anymore. I’ve become one of those pathetic women who cry at the drop of a hat and never get over the one that got away. If I’m destined to be sad and lonely for the rest of my life, I’d rather the rest of my life only last about five more minutes.

  “I saw him,” I say.

  “Preston?”

  I nod. “I don’t think he saw me, thank God,” I say. “Especially after seeing how bad this cut looks.”

  “You’re gorgeous,” Monica says, rubbing my arm. “Even with the cut.”

  I try to smile, but can’t really manage it. “He was talking to some girl,” I say. “I didn’t recognize her, but there was something in his expression that really got to me. He was into her. I could tell.”

  Monica sighs.

  “I mean, I guess I knew it was bound to happen eventually,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting him to stay single forever. But still. It sucks so hard.” And here come the waterworks again. Anger rushes through me along with fresh tears. “I just want to go to sleep and never wake up.”

  “Fuck that,” Monica says. She grabs my shoulders and turns my body toward her. “Bailey, listen to me. That’s bullshit and you know it. I don’t ever want to hear something like that come out of your mouth again.”

  I swallow, my eyes wide. There’s real anger in her voice.

  “Come on,” she says. She stomps out of the bathroom and I follow her toward my closet. “We’re going out.”

  I groan. “Mon, I really don’t want to go out tonight,” I say. The thought of having to act happy in a crowd of people makes me feel sick to my stomach. “Hello? Concussion?”

  “You said you don’t have a concussion,” she says. She goes through my closet one hanger at a time, evaluating each piece in an instant and moving it to the side with determined fury.

  “Well, I still don’t feel that great. I have a pounding headache.”

  “Go into the kitchen and grab some aspirin or something. Drink some water,” she says. “We’re going out and you’re going to have fun. I refuse to let you give up on life because of a man.”

  I don’t go into the kitchen. Instead, I collapse onto my bed and crawl under my blanket. “I’d rather stay here.”

  “And do what? Lay in bed crying and feeling sorry for yourself? What exactly is that going to accomplish other than making you feel worse?” she says. She puts a hand on her hip. “You’re in a danger-zone here, Bailey. If you don’t at least try to snap out of this depression and sadness, it’s going to swallow you whole. Preston Wright is not the only man alive. He’s not even the best man alive. You have to find a way to start seeing past him to all the other possibilities for your future.”

  I pull the blanket over my head.

  “Throw yourself into your paintings,” she says, her voice getting louder. “Create something new for yourself. Go out. Make new friends and get rid of those stuck-up richies who haven’t called you in weeks. Sleep with six different guys in a week if that’s what it takes. I don’t care. Anything but laying in this bed all day letting the depression steal your soul.”

  I curl into a tight ball, terrified of what she’s saying, but knowing she’s right.

  “I’m begging you,” she says after a few moments of silence, her voice softening as she sits at the edge of the bed. “Just come out with me tonight. If you’re having the worst time of your life, we can come home. But I need you to at least try. The deeper you let this pull you down, the harder it’s going to be to ever recover. Trust me, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

  Slowly, I sit up and let the blanket fall away from my face
. She’s talking about her mother now. Her parents divorced when Monica was young and her dad took off to god-knows-where, leaving her mom to raise three kids by herself. Only, her mother never really got over her broken heart. She suffered from depression most of her life and finally succumbed to it, taking her own life just five years ago when Monica was in high school.

  Until now, it hadn’t occurred to me why Monica was so determined to help me get over this. Why she was pushing me so hard. But now I get it.

  I’ve been so wrapped up in my own sorrow, I couldn’t see how this was affecting her.

  “Okay,” I say, placing my hand on hers. “But promise we can at least go someplace dark where no one will notice I look like I was in a violent fight with a badger.”

  Monica laughs and throws her arms around me. “Thank you,” she says.

  I stand up and go to my closet.

  “What color looks good with a black eye?”

  Chapter Five

  After a quick dinner and a couple of starter drinks back at the apartment, Monica and I start walking toward the boardwalk. Our apartment is only a few blocks away from the busy strip of shops, restaurants and bars along the beach. It’s the perfect location and after turning twenty-one earlier this year, we both had big plans for spending most of our weekends down at the bars, taking in the ocean views while sipping on cocktails.

  Sadly, it’s mostly been Monica walking down here with some of our other friends.

  “It’s about time you came down here with me,” she says.

  “Of course, I have to choose the coldest damn night of the year to walk to the beach.” I shiver and pull my scarf tighter around my neck. I left my gloves back at the apartment, and my hands are freezing. “Do you think anyone will even be out? They’re saying there’s actually a chance of snow this weekend.”

  “Snow in Georgia? At the beach?” She laughs. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  I shrug and look up at the night sky. The clouds are low and look white from the lights of the boardwalk shining up toward them.

  “Besides,” she says. “It’s the last weekend before finals and people will be leaving to go home soon for the holidays. Everyone will be out.”